


Ordinary

by saladinthesky



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, Blow Jobs, Fluff, M/M, Steamy yet cute, Tasteful and hot, They will fall in love, some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-22 23:31:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8305448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saladinthesky/pseuds/saladinthesky
Summary: Fall is here, so naturally I wrote Harry and Louis bonding at a boarding school in rainy, atmospheric Scotland. They meet for the first time and cute stuff happens. The Loch Ness Monster will probably be featured at some point lol





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the beginning of a longer story, so let me know what you think! The leaves are changing color, I have a candle that smells amazing burning beneath my rain-streaked window, and I'm listening to the new Two Door Cinema Club album.
> 
> I'm trying to write a chapter a day despite the pressures of homework, but we'll see if I can keep it up.
> 
> Also, this is obviously all imagined and I don't personally know any members of One Direction. Thanks for reading!

When Louis' parents suggested he apply for a boarding school in Scotland, he thought they were trying to get rid of him.

 

"You don't want to hear me singing in the shower anymore?" he asked, sarcastic but still a little hurt that his parents seemed so intent on sending him away.

 

"Give this program a look," his mum urged, handing him an informational pamphlet. "It's very prestigious."

 

So Louis looked at the program--a music-oriented curriculum for international students interested in getting serious about their art. Even if his parents were trying to get rid of him, he had to admit that this boarding school seemed right up his alley. He read that the dorms have soundproof booths on the top floor, in case students can't sleep or wake up with the sudden urge to start songwriting. It doesn't get much better than that.

 

Louis applied, and he thought it was a good sign that the school prioritized his interest in singing over his grades. His grades weren't bad, but he'd love to get into a school based on what he was truly passionate about.

 

Three months later, a big envelope came in the mail and he was in. His parents were proud, and Louis felt sure that it wasn't a plot to get rid of him by sending him north. They just wanted him to have a real shot at his dreams.

 

Now Louis sits in his dormitory, unpacked boxes stacked around the twin-size bed he'll be sleeping in until fall term is over. Then he'll have a month for holiday.

 

That holiday seems so far away as he looks at the last text from his mom: Miss you already, love. He's not usually this emotional, but watching his parents drive away was one of the most difficult things he has ever experienced.

 

He wipes at the tears threatening to fall, trying to reason with himself. It's only a few months. He can do this. He has to do this.

 

Louis puts his phone in his pocket and takes the lift to the top floor of the dorm. If there's anything that will help him right now, it's singing until his throat gets hoarse. That might numb the sadness he feels now that his parents are living twelve hours away.

 

The top floor looks different than the rest of the dormitory. The carpet is a rich red with edged with gossamer thread. Golden wall fixtures glow with warm light and there's a huge window that looks out on the school grounds. Louis goes to it, watching new and old students say goodbye to their parents and heave their trunks up the stone stairway that leads to the front of the dorms.

 

Beyond the mess of students lies a swath of greenery that rises up to meet gray, cloudy skies. It's fantastic and dreary all at once, mirroring just how Louis feels in this moment. He turns away and opens the first door on the right. Inside, it is almost completely empty. No microphone, no instruments. He doesn't know what he was expecting, but this is definitely not what he imagined when the school advertised soundproof studios.

 

The only furniture is a dusty old twin bed like the one in his room and a desk shoved into the corner. It seems funny that the soundproof booth would look so similar to his room four floors down.

 

Louis shrugs off any uncertainty and unzips his jacket. It's warmer in this room than his own, almost like the heater works better on the top floor.

 

Louis turns and stares at the old bed, thinking that it might make a really wonderful stage if he were to jump up on it. Why the hell shouldn't he use it as a stage? Clearly no one else is using it if the school left it in one of the soundproof booths. It's probably surplus, and they have nowhere else to store it.

 

Feeling silly and dramatic, Louis hops onto the bed and puts his hood up. He imagines himself performing above a huge crowd, phones flashing as people take Snapchats of him to prove to their friends they were at his concert.

 

"Thank you!" he yells, raising his hands up to all the imaginary fans. "I love you all! Thank you!"

 

Thank God this booth is soundproof.

 

Louis starts singing, trying out different pitches and belting out a few of his favorite melodies. The more he sings, the better he feels. It slowly dawns on him that he's in Scotland for music, which means no more math classes and learning about things that don't inspire him. He's about to spend fall term pursuing what he loves, free of all the kids from home who said he'd better apply to university because his chances of making it big are one-in-a-million.

 

He sings louder, his voice soaring to heights he didn't know were possible until this very moment. Is it just the fresh Scottish air, or has he learned something from this music academy just by spending a single afternoon in its hallowed halls?

 

He sticks the landing on one particularly high note and pauses for breath. He's about to carry on when someone starts clapping. Humiliated, Louis rips his hood off and looks toward the door. Another student is standing there, wearing a scuffed leather jacket and a shirt that's only halfway buttoned. Is there a tattoo on his chest, or is Louis just imagining the ink peeking from the edge of the loose-fitting shirt?

 

The student tucks his hands into the pockets of his black jacket and leans casually against the doorframe.

 

"Is this a regular thing, getting serenaded on the first day?" he asks, a bit cheeky. "Because as much as I loved the welcome, I planned on unpacking in private."

 

Louis scrambles off the bed, an unwelcome blush spreading across his face.

 

"I--I thought this room was soundproof," he says, stumbling over his words.

 

The student raises an eyebrow and flashes a lazy half-smile. "No such luck. I heard you as soon as I stepped off the lift."

 

"Oh God." Louis stands in the middle of the un-soundproof room, all the imaginary fans gone. Replaced by this guy, who is still smiling like this whole encounter is very, very funny. And maybe it would seem funny, if Louis wasn't so embarrassed.

 

"Soundproof booths are at the end of the hall," the student says, on the verge of laughing. "It's on the dorm map posted in the lift."

 

Who reads maps posted in the lift? Confused, Louis edges into the hallway and wonders how he can make a quick getaway.

 

"I'm Harry," the student holds his hand out, an oddly formal gesture considering the way they were introduced. "Harry Styles."

 

"Louis Tomlinson."

 

"Nice to meet you."

 

Louis doesn't think nice is the word he'd use to describe their chance encounter, but he nods in agreement and moves toward the elevator.

 

"Well, see you around," he says, jabbing the button for the lift and hoping it'll show up before his face decides to blush again. How long was Harry standing at the door, listening to him sing and watching him dance around to the delight of imaginary fans? This is the worst kind of humiliation.

 

The lift finally arrives and Louis steps inside. He waves as Harry runs his hand through his long hair.

 

"See you, Louis."

 

The doors close and the whole embarrassing affair is over.


	2. Chapter 2

Louis toys with the idea of ditching the welcome reception later that afternoon. He pretends that his lack of motivation is due to all the things he has yet to unpack, but the real reason is Harry Styles. There are hundreds of students at this school, but it'd be just Louis' luck to run into the smug student over tea and biscuits.

 

In the end, his hunger wins out. He hasn't eaten since breakfast with his parents, and it's starting to gnaw at him. The welcome reception advertised sandwiches and tea and hot cocoa, so it'd be the perfect pick-me-up before dinner. He zips a black rain parka all the way to his chin and changes into his old, muddy trainers in case the walk across campus is especially waterlogged.

 

The lift doors are closing as he wanders out of his room, so he runs toward them and slips inside just in time.

 

"First floor?" a blonde student asks in a pleasant Irish accent.

 

"Yeah."

 

"You going to the reception?"

 

"I am. You?"

 

"I never pass up free food," the Irish guy says with a friendly laugh. "I'm Niall, by the way."

 

"Louis."

 

"On the market for any friends, Louis?"

 

Louis grins at Niall's casual, joking question and gives a nod. The elevator opens and they walk toward the front doors of the dormitory together.

 

"You might not believe this, but I actually just moved in and I don't know a single person here."

 

"No," Niall gasps in mock horror. "You mean you just moved in today? I bet you'd be the only one of us who moved in on moving day."

 

Louis laughs, already warming up to the chatty Irishman.

 

"I'm from down south--England. And you're from Ireland, I suspect?"

 

"How'd you figure that one out?" Niall wonders, lively. "Was it--was it my accent?"

 

"Maybe," Louis pretends to consider for a moment. "No, yeah. Definitely the accent."

 

Niall laughs. "I'm from the Dublin area."

 

"I've visited with my parents."

 

"Is it bad that I already miss it a little?"

 

Louis is relieved that he's not the only one suffering from a little early-onset homesickness.

 

"I feel the same way," he confides. "But I'm looking forward to fall term, overall. It'll just take a some getting used to."

 

"Exactly," Niall says, opening the door to Potter Hall and gesturing for Louis to go first.

 

"Thanks." Louis walks past Niall and takes a moment to let his gaze wander over the grand foyer. The walls are rough stone and the high ceiling arches into stained glass windows at the top. The mingling voices of incoming students echo off the walls as he and Niall ascend a few steps and join the large reception.

 

"Food," Niall says. "Food first."

 

Louis nods in agreement and they find a long table laden with teacakes and petite whitebread sandwiches. He grabs a few things that look good and follows Niall to the fringes of the room, where they can easily see everyone.

 

"The best kind of parties are ones with tons of chaperones around," Niall says sarcastically, pointing out all the teachers who stand like guards around the perimeter of the room.

 

"God," Louis laughs. "The way they're glaring makes this thing feel really friendly. That one's staring at the hot water like he could really use a cuppa about now."

 

"Speaking of staring," Niall says, elbowing Louis and jutting his chin toward the middle of the crowd. "Who's that guy?"

 

Louis squints, trying to figure out who Niall's talking about. His eyes alight on a familiar face and a mess of dark hair tied back into a bun. It's the very person he hoped to avoid for the rest of fall term: Harry Styles.

 

"Oh shit," he says, turning away. "Has he seen me?"

 

"Yeah, he's only been staring at you for the past five minutes." Niall looks from Louis to Harry and back. "Is he a bad guy? Don't tell me you need me to give him a good punch in the face to defend you. We only just became friends."

 

Louis laughs, surprised at how easily Niall makes light of the situation.

 

"No. I just embarrassed myself in front of him earlier." Louis takes a deep breath and turns back around. To his surprise, Harry is nowhere in sight.

 

"Want to split this?" Niall asks, holding out a pastry.

 

Louis is about to take half when he feels a light tap on his shoulder. His face heats up when he sees Harry standing there, wearing the same leather jacket as before. From this angle, Louis can tell that there are definitely tattoos on Harry's chest. Some type of bird…swallows, maybe?

 

"H-hey," Louis says in a desperate attempt to sound casual. "This is my friend Niall. Niall, this is Harry Styles."

 

"Sup Harry," Niall says, sounding genuinely casual in a way Louis wishes he could imitate.

 

Harry nods at Niall, obviously quieter than the Irishman.

 

"No serenade this time?" he asks Louis, dimples forming as he smirks.

 

Louis is a little annoyed at Harry bringing that up again.

 

"Uh…no."

 

"I'm only teasing," Harry says. "Maybe I wanted to see you blush again. Selfish, I know."

 

Harry wants to see him blush? As Louis tries to work out what this might mean, telltale heat creeps across his cheeks. He fights the urge to cover his face with both hands and sprint toward the nearest doorway.

 

"Oh hey, there's a mate I met on a school trip in England," Niall says, waving to a guy with dark, piercing eyes. "Catch you later, Louis?"

 

Louis nods and Niall takes off into the crowd.

 

"You knew him before coming here?" Harry asks once Niall is gone.

 

"No, actually, we just met in the lift."

 

"Did you sing to him, too?"

 

"Shut. Up." Louis tries to be angry at Harry for bringing this up again, but he can't help smile at their inside joke. Now that the embarrassment is fading, it's just really funny.

 

Harry looks like he's about to say something in response when a peppy-looking girl comes up to him and grabs his arm.

 

"Harry, is that you?"

 

Harry looks down at the much shorter girl and smiles. Louis already knows him well enough to recognize that it is not a real smile.

 

"Hey Bianca. I heard you were accepted here. Sorry I forgot to congratulate you."

 

"Oh, it's OK." She giggles, and the sound grates Louis' ears. Does he really have to stand here and watch the two of them flirt? He sees Niall laughing animatedly with the dark-eyed student and wants to join them. "I hope we have some classes together. I can sit behind you and braid that gorgeous hair of yours."

 

Is Louis just imagining it, or does Harry look slightly horrified at this proposition?

 

Harry flashes Bianca one more dimple-less smile and glances at Louis.

 

"So, mate, you want to show me that thing you were going to show me?" he asks cryptically.

 

"Uh--" it takes Louis a moment to realize that Harry is looking for a way to escape this unwanted flirtation. "--yes. It's outside."

 

"Excellent." Harry turns back toward Bianca. "If you'll excuse me, Louis has something important to show me outside."

 

Bianca giggles in response, but Louis hardly notices because Harry has taken hold of his hand and is leading him out the front doors of Potter Hall.

 

"Wow," Louis says as soon as Harry drops his hand. "That girl really likes you."

 

"She's nice," Harry shrugs.

 

"I mean, she likes you as more than a friend."

 

"Oh. You think?"

 

Louis nods. How did Harry not notice the obvious admiration in Bianca's eyes?

 

"Well, that wouldn't really work out for me," Harry says, turning his collar up against the rain. "I'm gay."

 

It takes a lot of effort for Louis to avoid choking on his own tongue. How is it possible that the first person he met in Scotland is this boy--beautiful, aggravating Harry Styles? And they're both gay. Louis isn't the type to believe the fairytale stories of people falling in love at boarding school, but still. This is something.

 

"Want to go for a walk?" Harry asks, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets. "I saw a path through the trees. It'll be a bit drier."

 

Louis nods, surprised at this sudden turn in events. Because as much as he wanted to avoid Harry Styles for the rest of his time in Scotland, he hears himself saying: "I'd love to go for a walk."


	3. Chapter 3

Louis' first class is A Comprehensive History of The Beatles. Seriously. He can't believe this parallel universe he's been dropped into, where listening to "Help" counts as studying. But it doesn't matter that this school feels surreal--he's so excited that he sends a text to his parents: On my way to my first class! Love you both.

 

There are about thirty desks in the classroom, spaced out in even lines from the teacher's desk to the back of the classroom. Louis sees the dark-eyed student that Niall laughed with at the welcome reception and decides to join him in the row closest to the window.

 

"This seat taken?" Louis asks, shrugging his backpack off.

 

"Nope. All yours." The guy smiles, revealing teeth that are just about as perfect as the rest of him.

 

"You're friends with Niall, right?"

 

"Yeah. I'm Zayn."

 

"I'm Louis."

 

"Great to meet you." Zayn trails his pen absently across the wide-ruled notebook in front of him. Louis notices that there are intricate doodles in the corners--patterns that wouldn't make bad tattoos, if Louis were ready to add a few more to his collection. Zayn looks out the window and sighs. "Field's going to be a bloody mudbath today."

 

"Oh," Louis says, noticing the rain for the first time. Already, he's used to wearing his rain parka everyday. He puts his hood up before leaving the dormitory and hardly feels the rain flecking his jacket as he walks from hall to hall. "You play a sport?"

 

"Football," Zayn says. "Do you play?"

 

"A little. I'm a bit shit, honestly."

 

Zayn laughs and looks back from the window. "I'm sure you're great. You should practice with us today. I know I didn't make it sound that appealing by calling it a mudbath, but it'll still be a good time."

 

Louis pretends to consider, but he's already made up his mind. He's only been moved in three days and making friends is still high on the priority list.

 

"I'll be there," he says. "What time?"

 

Zayn tells him and sketches a map to show where the fields are in relation to the dormitory. He rips the page out of his notebook and hands it to Louis, who thanks him. Then the professor starts taking attendance and Louis turns around in his seat. He carefully folds Zayn's map into the inside pocket of his rain parka, where he's sure it won't get wet.

 

The professor has everyone introduce themselves by saying their name, age, and favorite Beatles song, before launching into a delineation of the Beatles rise to fame in the early sixties. Louis takes careful notes, glad that Harry isn't in this class. If he were, it'd take all Louis' willpower to keep his eyes on the chalkboard.

 

The rest of the day passes quickly, and Louis is disappointed when Harry isn't in any of his classes. The school isn't very big, so what are the chances of them not having a single hour together? The fairytale feeling that had sparked inside him was starting to flicker out with each passing lesson.

 

Football practice is right after Louis' last class, so he runs back to the dorms and changes into a sweat-wicking shirt and loose shorts. He puts his muddy trainers on and makes a mental note to have his parents mail his cleats and shinguards so he can dress like a proper footballer text time.

 

He's running a little late, so when he gets off the lift and realizes he's forgotten his rain parka, he doesn't return for it. Besides, if the fields are a mudbath like Zayn predicted, there's little a waterproof jacket can do.

 

Louis jogs to the fields, which are quite a ways across campus. He's out of breath by the time he reaches Zayn and the other guys.

 

"Sorry I'm late," he pants, wiping rainwater from his forehead before it can trickle into his eyes.

 

"No worries, mate," Zayn says, obviously the captain of the team. He has a gentle air of authority around him, and Louis can easily imagine him as the center forward.

 

"Hey!"

 

Louis turns around and gets a half-hug from Niall, who'd snuck up on him.

 

"You're late too?" Louis asks.

 

"I had class right before," Niall says. "Same for you?"

 

Louis nods, and then Zayn is getting their attention once again.

 

"We're going to start by pairing up for some drills," Zayn says. "Becs, you'll be with Niall. Kenny, practice with Ed. Liam, why don't you work with Louis? And I'll pair with you, Hadley."

 

Louis looks around, unsure who he's supposed to be partnered with. He sees a guy with brown hair whisper something to Zayn, who points toward Louis. Louis waves and the brown-haired guy walks over.

 

"You're Liam, I assume?"

 

"Yup. Nice to meet you, Louis. Did you bring a ball, or want to share mine?"

 

"It'd be great if you wouldn't mind sharing. I'm going to ask my parents to mail all my football things first chance. Honestly, I wasn't really planning on playing football here before Zayn invited me."

 

"But you do play?"

 

"Oh yeah. I'm not very good at it, but it's fun."

 

Liam smiles and passes him the ball. "Glad you decided to join, Louis. Most of us signed up over the summer to play fall term, so you've only missed one practice. We all met up after the welcome reception and just kicked it around a little."

 

From there, the next hour is a series of drills followed by a competitive--but good-natured--scrimmage. Louis is surprised by how many goals he's able to score, despite being a little out of practice. By the end of the game, he's covered in mud from head-to-toe and grinning because Niall is slapping him on the back and telling him how good his game is.

 

"You should come eat with us," Niall says as the team tromps back to the dorm.

 

"Shouldn't we shower off first?"

 

"Nah," Niall says, shoving Louis a little. "The best part is showing off how filthy you are, mate. Wear it like a badge of honor. Girls love it."

 

Louis is quiet for a minute, wondering if he should use this as an opportunity to come out to his new friend. He decides that this is as good a time as any and says, "Hopefully guys love it too. I'm gay."

 

Niall nods and puts a muddy arm around Louis' shoulders. "I suspect it'll be the same for guys."

 

"Thanks for being cool about it," Louis says. He was fortunate to have had many positive responses from family and friends, but he still gets a little nervous each time he comes out to a new person.

 

"Course," Niall says. "You're a keeper, Louis. I mean, not literally a keeper. I think you'll make a better striker. Ugh, you know what I'm trying to say."

 

Louis laughs. "Yeah. I think I do."


	4. Chapter 4

The cafeteria is packed with students when Louis and the rest of the muddy team arrives for dinner. He grabs a plastic tray and follows Niall through the line. He fills his tray up with soup, salad, and an entrée that looks like some type of meat loaf and potatoes. Thank God his parents got him the most expensive meal plan. Now that he's playing football again, he has a feeling his meals are going to be large and frequent.

 

Niall wasn't joking when he said that girls love a little mud. As the team searches for an empty table, Louis notices the lingering stares. Somehow, he's gone from having no friends to being a part of a kickass football team. If he knew boarding school was all about Beatles classes and football in the rain, he would've applied ages ago.

 

He's about to join Niall and the guys when someone waves from a crowded table. It's Harry, looking hot in a way Louis can't even pretend to ignore. He tells himself to get it together and gives Harry a casual wave back. It becomes not so casual when his tray becomes off-balance and almost topples his entire dinner on the ground. He barely manages to get his hand under the meatloaf before it goes sliding onto his soggy trainers.

 

And once again, he's blushing in front of Harry Styles. This is not the part of boarding school he signed up for.

 

In a flash, Harry is standing in front of him and helping him with the tray. He takes the plate of meatloaf and potatoes, lightening the load a great deal. Louis wants to be grateful, but he's honestly a little furious at how unfair this is. Harry is wearing a dark gray T-shirt that dips well below his collarbones and tight black pants, ripped at the knees. His full lips are turned up in a smirk and Louis can't help but wonder if Harry is distinctly unimpressed by the way Louis' shorts are dripping mud onto the ground. His rain-slick hair and sodden appearance seemed cool when he was grabbing food with the team, but now it feels foolish. He feels like a swamp creature--something that should be tossed into the Loch Ness as a snack for the monster.

 

"Thanks," Louis says tersely. "But I've got it. You can put that plate back on my tray."

 

"It's no problem--I'll help you to your table." Harry turns toward the table where the rest of the team is now seated. "I'd ask you to sit with me, but my salad is really well dressed and you dripping mud on it would only throw off the flavor."

 

Louis glares at Harry's glorious mess of hair. How is it fair that the most beautiful guy at this school has to be so infuriating? How is it fair that Louis is only infuriated because despite himself, he thinks Harry's jabs are funny?

 

"Harry, right?" Niall says as Harry sets Louis' plate in front of an empty seat at their table.

 

"Yup. Nice to see you boys again," Harry says, staring at Louis the entire time. "Later, Louis."

 

"Later." Louis wants nothing more than to see Harry later. This realization settles in his stomach like a rock, heavy as he tries hard not to sneak a glance at Harry's ass before he sits back down across the cafeteria. "I didn't see Harry in any of my classes. Isn't that weird?"

 

"Nah," Zayn says. "I heard he's a prodigy, or something. He's around our age, but he's here doing research with one of the professors. Lives on a different floor of the dorms and everything."

 

Louis has to keep his jaw from dropping open and dumping a half-chewed bite of meatloaf onto his tray.

 

"What kind of prodigy?" Liam asks.

 

"Dunno. Music production, maybe? I heard he plays guitar too. And he sings. I mean, just look at the bastard. He's got that whole table of girls salivating into their soup."

 

Louis looks from Zayn to the table Harry is seated at. Sure enough, all the girls are giving him gooey, heart-eye expressions as he gestures with his hands about something. Jealousy explodes in his stomach and suddenly it's all Louis can do to stop himself from marching right over and dragging Harry away from the admirers. He shovels a few bites of potato into his mouth to avoid saying something stupid and nearly chokes. Niall slaps him on the back a couple times and Louis gives him a thumbs-up once he can breathe normally again.

 

So Harry is only loosely a student. Louis imagines him as the gray area between the clearly defined lines of student and teacher, and it makes sense. Though he and Harry are presumably the same age, there's something about him that makes Louis feel childish. Unsophisticated. It's not only that Harry is taller, it's the way he carries himself. Where Louis bumbles, Harry is graceful and confident. He probably has some posh boyfriend in London, just counting down the days until fall term is over and they are reunited.

 

Louis refuses to be another heart-eyed admirer pining after Harry Styles. He turns pointedly away from Harry's table and focuses on finishing the rest of his meal without another coughing fit.

 

"So our first match is next weekend," Zayn says as they wander back to the dorms. "I'll be ordering jerseys tomorrow so we look official."

 

"Is it a home match?" Louis would rather not have to travel at the very beginning of fall term.

 

"Yup," Niall says. "And the visiting team is shit, from what I've heard."

 

"Do you need any help ordering the shirts, Zayn?" Liam looks at the team captain with a hopeful expression. At least, it looks hopeful to Louis. But he's probably just misinterpreting the situation--why would Liam want to help with ordering? It sounds boring to Louis.

 

"I've got it all squared away," Zayn says, pressing the button for the lift. "Thanks though."

 

Liam nods, looking a little crestfallen. But maybe Louis is just misinterpreting things again.


	5. Chapter 5

Louis sits in his room Friday night, eyeing a bottle of merlot his parents surprised him with the day they dropped him off. He wonders if it's more pathetic to watch movies alone in the dorm on a Friday, or watch movies alone in the dorm on a Friday while drunk.

 

A knock on his door spares him from making the choice right away. He closes his laptop and opens the door, revealing Niall.

 

"You're looking fancy," Louis says, giving Niall's outfit a quick once-over. The gray, half-buttoned coat and dark red pants are a far cry from the sweaty fare he's used to seeing Niall in. He thinks that Niall's pants are almost the same shade of red as the merlot sitting on his desk and tries to push his lonely evening out of his mind for the moment.

 

"We're going out," Niall says, bouncing with excitement. "The whole team. We're gonna hit up some pubs and celebrate the fact that we don't have a game bright and early tomorrow morning."

 

The whole team. "Does that mean I'm invited?" Louis asks, wanting to be sure they don't mind him tagging along.

 

"Duh. And those pajamas aren't going to cut it. I don't want to be rude, but seriously. Get them the fuck off and change into something a little less sad."

 

Louis looks down at his football-print pajamas and flashes Niall a hurt look. "I've had these since I was ten."

 

"Yeah, and I can tell. They're so threadbare, your dick's about to show through."

 

Louis rolls his eyes and opens his door wide enough for Niall to come in. While he takes a seat at Louis' desk, Louis pulls a soft, camel-colored sweater out of his dresser and grabs some dark jeans to go with it.

 

"And it's not raining," Niall says as Louis changes. "So you don't have to wear that sodding black raincoat. Seriously, I bet that thing's gonna grow mold soon."

 

"I'm sorry I don't walk around getting soaked between classes. I'd rather get a little mold than pneumonia."

 

Niall shrugs like Louis might make a good point. "Almost ready, then?"

 

"Yeah." Louis balls up his pajamas and tosses them unceremoniously onto his pillow. "How are we getting into town?"

 

"Zayn's got an app, so he found us a ride. It'll be here soon--most of the boys are waiting downstairs." Niall opens the door and they head down the hall.

 

As they get on the lift, Louis wishes he could invite Harry to this outing. If only Harry could see how decent Louis looks when he's not dripping mud or trussed up in a bulky rain parka. But knowing Louis' luck, he'd end up spitting beer all over Harry's shirt or getting wasted and puking on the sidewalk. It was probably better he wouldn't be seeing Harry tonight.

 

Zayn tells them the car's here as soon as they get off the lift. Louis thinks that he looks unfairly gorgeous in an all-black ensemble. If he looked like Zayn, Louis would have the confidence to ask Harry out. Not that he wants to ask Harry out. I mean, God. Harry's rude and smug and obviously unavailable.

 

The car turns out to be a larger van, which is good because there wouldn't be enough room for the team in a normal-size vehicle. Louis piles in the backseat along with Liam and Zayn while Niall rides shotgun. Ed, Hadley, and Kenny are in the middle.

 

Louis gropes for his seatbelt in the dark and latches it. There's a slight commotion as Liam feels around for his buckle and accidentally touches Zayn's leg.

 

"Oh--s-sorry," Liam says, letting go of his seatbelt.

 

"I'll help you." Zayn starts to reach for the seatbelt.

 

"No, I'm fine," Liam says quickly. "It's only a few miles to the pub."

 

"Li, I want you to be safe," Zayn says, insistent. "Give me the seatbelt."

 

Liam pulls his seatbelt across his chest and hands it to Zayn, who secures it to the buckle next to his leg.

 

"Thanks," Liam says quietly, looking down at his hands.

 

Louis doesn't know what to make of their interaction, so he settles back against the headrest and listens to the banter between Niall and their driver. It sounds like Niall is recommending different types of hair products, but he can't be sure. Whatever they're talking about, the driver is interested. He keeps saying things like, "You're pulling my leg, laddie" and "Now I know what to ask my lady for at Christmas." Louis smiles, glad that he became friends with Niall his very first day away from home. If it weren't for him and the team, Scotland wouldn't seem like such a friendly place.

 

When they reach the town, warm yellow light spills from the stone buildings and shines off rain-soaked cobblestones. They must be in the center of town, judging by the groups of chatty, dressed-up people walking to and from the pubs. Louis hopes at least one of them has dancing, because ever since that day in Harry's room he's wanted a chance to sing along to loud music and dance until he's sweating. He wants a chance to perform, even if it's not in front of thousands of adoring fans.

 

They get out of the van and move to the side of the street so cars can pass. Louis is about to ask what pub they're going to check out, but his question is nullified when Zayn points one out as the best place for cheap beer and dancing. Cheap beer and dancing is exactly what Louis wants out of this Friday evening.

 

They crowd into the pub and Zayn says he'll order the first round. Louis expects Liam to chase after him offering to help, but he doesn't. Liam just stands with his hands in the pockets of his jean jacket, looking around at the crowd and bobbing his head ever so slightly to the thumping music.

 

The team finds an empty booth near the dance floor and sits down to wait for Zayn. He appears moments later, three beers in hand.

 

"Can someone help me out with the last ones?" he asks, already heading back to the bar.

 

Louis waits a beat, giving Liam the chance to speak up if he wants to. But Liam doesn't move to lend Zayn a hand, so Louis gets up and takes off across the packed pub. He joins Zayn at the bar and they each grab two beers. Louis sloshes a little on the sleeve of his sweater and curses under his breath. He's about to set the pints down and grab a napkin when one appears out of nowhere, wiping gently at the fresh stain. He doesn't need to see the inked cross to know who those sure, long-fingered hands belong to.

 

"Harry," he chokes. "I--uh."

 

"You're a mess, Tomlinson." Harry laughs and gives Louis a look to show that he's only teasing.

 

"Haz." A guy plops down on the barstool next to Harry and Louis' eyes go wide. Here he was thinking his soft sweater and lack of muddiness would be enough to make Harry interested in him. Turns out that posh London boyfriend Louis' has been imagining isn't so imaginary. He was an idiot to think he ever had a chance in hell with Harry, and it makes him angry that he'd fallen into the trap of unrequited pining so easily.

 

"Who's this?" the boyfriend asks, gesturing to Louis. And Louis wants to pretend he doesn't notice the guy's immaculately styled hair and designer ankle boots, but he does. It's a total blow to his confidence and he feels himself shrinking under the man's posh London gaze.

 

"This is Louis. Louis, this is Darren."

 

"Haz, I think it's more appropriate for him to call me Mr. Westerfeld."

 

Holy shit. Louis almost drops the pints, he's so shocked. Who does this guy think he is? Even posh London sugar daddies shouldn't get away with making their boyfriend's classmates call him "Mr."

 

"Louis?" Zayn comes back to the bar, clearly wondering what happened to the last two beers.

 

"Coming," Louis says, moving his wrist away from Harry's napkin and hurrying back to his teammates. He's having a difficult time processing what he just saw. A part of him wants to leave the pub and spend the rest of the weekend trying to forget what Harry's boyfriend looks like. Forget about Harry altogether.

 

But as his teammates raise their pints in a toast to the upcoming season, Louis knows that he's not going to admit defeat. He's going to get very, very drunk.


	6. Chapter 6

Louis loses track of everything he drinks over the course of the next two hours, which is probably not a good thing. He sees Liam looking vaguely miserable on the dance floor--hands still stuffed in his jacket pockets--and heads over to join him.

 

"Hey, is something bumming you out?" Louis would never ask this in his usual, sober state. But now he yells the question over the music, unconcerned.

 

"Uh," Liam looks confused for a moment, then he looks like he might cry. He's not as drunk as Louis, but he certainly isn't sober.

 

"You can tell me," Louis says. "My lips are sealed! I mean, they're not sealed right now because I have to scream so you can hear me, but yeah. Once we're out of this pub, they're sealed."

 

Liam looks like he wants to say something, but seems too afraid. He looks toward the booth where Zayn is still sitting with Kenny and Ed. Niall is off in a corner with some girl he recognized from class. He's not sure where Hadley went.

 

Sure that none of their teammates can hear, Louis leans close to Liam's ear.

 

"Do you like Zayn?"

 

When he steps back, Liam's eyes are wide. He doesn't look panicked, just shocked that Louis was able to pick up on his crush so quickly.

 

"H-how? I mean, yeah. Yeah. I bloody like him. I like him a whole fucking lot."

 

"I get it," Louis nods. "He's hot."

 

"Right?" Liam's hands finally come out of his pockets and he starts to look more animated. "He's so hot. And so unwilling to notice me."

 

Louis flashes him a lopsided, conspiratorial grin. "Want to make him notice?"

 

Liam looks wary. "You have an idea?"

 

"I do. There's a guy at the bar that makes me act like a total idiot whenever he's around. And now he's sitting with his boyfriend and they're so fucking posh together." Louis presses his palms against his rosy cheeks, trying to steady himself as the room gets blurry. "Let's dance together."

 

"I dunno if that'd be enough to make Zayn jealous."

 

"We have to try!" Louis eyes Harry's broad shoulders, hunched over the bar as he listens to something his much shorter boyfriend says. He tips his head back and laughs, sending off a hive of angry bees in Louis' stomach.

 

"Yeah," Liam says, bouncing a little on his feet like he's trying to get psyched up before a match. "Let's do it."

 

They move together as a remixed Foals song comes on. Louis knows the words to this one, so he belts them out. Liam seems to know the chorus, so he chimes in like a backup singer every time the lyrics repeat. Soon people are making room for them, stepping aside as they gyrate all over the dance floor. Louis trips at one point and isn't even embarrassed. He picks himself up and gives a bow to the people who are watching. Most of them laugh. He wonders if Harry is watching. Whatever. He's not going to look toward the bar. He's not--

 

He looks toward the bar and meets Harry's even, green-eyed gaze. He turns away, back toward Liam. He throws his hands around Liam's neck and Liam laughs, clearly having more fun than he's had all night. Louis thinks that even if Harry and Zayn are indifferent toward what's happening on the dance floor, at least Liam seems to be lightening up.

 

The song ends and Louis feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns around, stomach twisted into a million knots as he plans out what he might say to Harry. But Harry isn't standing there. It's Zayn, looking more awkward than Louis has ever seen him. Now it's his turn to have his hands in his pockets as he carefully avoids Liam's gaze.

 

"What's up?" Louis asks.

 

"I'm outta money and I was wondering if you could get another round for Ed and I."

 

"Oh, I--uh. Yeah, I can do that." Louis looks between him and Liam, realizing that their two-man dance party had actually worked. Zayn was totally jealous.

 

"Thanks," Zayn says, finally looking at Liam. "This is a good song."

 

"I like this song," Liam says, giving Zayn a nervous but genuine smile.

 

Louis watches it like a tennis match, his brain screaming: JUST MAKE OUT ALREADY. Then Zayn gives him a weird look and he remembers the drinks he's supposed to be ordering. Right.

 

Louis takes off for the bar, wondering if there's anything Zayn and Ed haven't had yet. He settles on a simple gin and tonic for both of them and relays this to the bartender.

 

"It seems like you've already had quite enough," Harry observes. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows now, exposing lean forearms and more tattoos.

 

"These aren't for me," Louis says, his speech impeded by just the slightest slur.

 

"I can drive you back to your dorm," the posh boyfriend offers, overly friendly.

 

This drives Louis over the edge. Who does this guy think he is, telling strangers that they've hit their limit and offering a tipsy taxi service? He ignores the drinks the bartender sets in front of him and gets a little too close to Harry and his London-bred sugar daddy. They can probably spell the spirits on his breath--far too strong for this early in the evening.

 

"I dunno who. The fuck. You think you are. Harry may like you, but I'm not blinded by love or lust or whatever bloody thing is blinding him. You're a fu--"

 

At this, Harry presses a shushing finger over Louis' blabbering mouth. To everyone's surprise, Louis goes quiet immediately.

 

"I'll take him back, Darren. It's no problem."

 

The boyfriend raises his eyebrows, surprised at Harry taking this chore upon himself. Louis is surprised too.

 

"I'm fine. Not even drunk. You can take your bloody concern and shove it up your fucking--"

 

He gets another shushing finger against his lips, but this time it lingers. The soft bow of Louis' lips tingles warmly, the way it does when he takes a shot of something particularly strong. Then Harry's hand is gone as he grabs his glass, draining the caramel-colored contents. He gets up from his seat and throws his coat over one arm. He wraps his other arm around Louis' shoulders.

 

"Get him home safe, Haz," Darren says.

 

"Will do, professor."

 

Wait. As Louis stumbles and allows himself to be steadied by Harry's firm grip, something dawns on him. He can't fucking believe what he just said to a professor from their school. He remembers what Zayn said, about Harry being a prodigy and working in partnership with professors on campus. They step outside into the cold night air and he feels like he might be sick. The sudden lack of loud music and boozy, sticky air is enough to make him double over. He throws up in the gutter, horribly loud and prolonged. He sure as hell hopes Harry was just shitting Mr. Westerfeld about getting Louis home safely. He'd just as soon have Harry leave him here to wallow in his puddle of sick.

 

"Easy." Louis feels two hands on his arms, helping to get him upright. "Here, wipe your mouth off on my coat."

 

"No way." Louis shakes his head emphatically. He may have just vomited in front of Harry Styles, but there is no way in hell he's going to wipe the remnants of that vomit on the clean wool sleeve of Harry's coat.

 

"C'mon, you'll feel better."

 

"I don't even have anything on my mouth," Louis says, wondering if this is true. "I just need a coffee or something. That'd do the trick."

 

"Then let's go get you a coffee," Harry says. "But then we're going straight back to school."

 

Louis nods weakly and starts following Harry down the street. No more than a block from the pub, Harry throws his coat around Louis' shuddering shoulders and Louis instinctively clutches the thick fabric tighter around him.

 

"But aren't you cold?" he asks.

 

"Nah." Harry tucks his hands in the pockets of his tight black pants and looks toward the next row of buildings. "I think there's a little shop up here."

 

They cross the street and go inside a small grocery store. It looks to Louis like it's owned by an older couple, judging by the crowded antiques on the walls and yellowed newspaper articles framed behind the checkout stand. He tries to hide behind Harry as they approach the counter, knowing that the drunken sheen on his face is probably pronounced by this point in the evening.

 

"Can I get two coffees?" Harry asks the old, smiling woman behind the counter.

 

She says yes and asks what kind they would like. Harry orders black and Louis takes his with hazelnut cream. They walk out of the shop with the paper cups warming their hands and Louis sticks his arms through the sleeves in Harry's coat. It looks a little clownish on him--far too big for his smaller frame--but it's comfortable.

 

"Are you going to call a cab?" Louis asks. "Because I have some money. I can pay for it to get you back for the coffee."

 

"The coffee is on me," Harry says, cheeks dimpling as he looks down at his cup. "And the ride is too, I'm afraid. I drove my car here."

 

"Your…you have a car?" Only teachers are allowed to have cars at their boarding school. There's not enough parking space for student cars.

 

"Because I'm working with Darren," Harry explains.

 

"Yeah. Darren Westerfeld. Otherwise known as the teacher I cussed out while raging drunk in a pub. God. Am I going to have to send him an apology note? An edible arrangement?"

 

Harry laughs. "Don't worry about it. He'll have forgotten it by Monday. You don't have him as a professor, right?"

 

"Thank God, no."

 

"Good. Then you won't be failing any classes on account of that scene you put on back there."

 

Louis stares at him, indignant. "I thought you said he'll forget all about it!"

 

"I'm trying to make you feel better. But c'mon, Louis. You almost commanded him to shove his concern up his bloody asshole."

 

"Bloody concern up his fucking asshole," Louis mutters.

 

"What?"

 

"You misquoted me. I don't like being misquoted."

 

Harry cracks up and Louis suddenly feels warm all over. Not because of the coat or the coffee, but because he made Harry laugh. And Harry's laugh is perfect. It forces Louis to take a sip of coffee before he blurts something he'll regret.

 

"Anyway, I'm sorry about that," Louis says.

 

"I just didn't understand what you were on about. The love and lust thing--I mean, what were you getting at?"

 

Louis cringes and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, Harry is looking at him.

 

"We don't have to talk about it right now," Harry says gently, pointing to the right. "The car's that way."

 

They walk through an overgrown park toward a lot with a few cars in it. As the tunnel of trees opens up, Harry pulls his keys out and clicks a button. A car beeps and headlights flash on and off. Harry hurries ahead of Louis so he can open the passenger door.

 

"Thanks," Louis mumbles, clambering into the seat with clumsy limbs. It takes all his concentration to avoid spilling coffee on Harry's fine leather seats.

 

Harry walks around the front of the car and gets behind the wheel.

 

"All set?" he asks, turning his keys in the ignition.

 

Louis nods and they take off. His general impression of Harry's driving is that it's fast but safe. Though he takes a few curves in the road at high speeds, his hands never leave the wheel and his eyes stay locked on the far-reaching headlight beams. Louis finds himself settling in, closing his eyes and relaxing against the buttery leather. Harry's coat wraps him in a big hug and there's a pleasant, low-frequency sound in the car. It takes Louis a moment to realize the sound is Harry humming some distant, unfamiliar melody. He's lulled to sleep within minutes.

 

He wakes up to a light touch on his cheek. Opening his eyes groggily, he realizes that he's still in Harry's car and Harry is still in the driver's seat. They're back at school, parked amongst the professors' cars.

 

He processes all that before the fact that Harry's soft palm is cupping his chin truly sinks in. When it does, he's glad to see that Harry secured his hazelnut-cream coffee in a cupholder. If Louis had still been holding it, he would've spilled the contents all over.

 

"I'm sorry to wake you," Harry says, sounding genuinely upset. "But it'll be more comfortable to sleep in your bed, I reckon. Don't want you waking up with a crick in your neck."

 

He draws his hand back and busies himself with their coffee cups. Louis drags himself out of the passenger seat in a daze, wishing he could recall the exact sensation of Harry's gentle touch upon his face.

 

Once they make it to Louis' room, Harry sets the hazelnut-cream coffee in a spot where Louis can reach it from bed.

 

"Do you want me to wait until you're changed?" Harry asks as Louis sinks onto the edge of his bed.

 

"No," Louis says quickly. He wonders what Harry would think if he saw the football-spotted pajamas Louis planned on wearing to bed. "Thanks. But I'm good."

 

"Alright. Just let me help you get your shoes off. It's the hardest part."

 

Louis nods and Harry stoops down so he can reach the laces. Louis moons over the broad, subtly muscled expanse of Harry's shoulders as he takes one shoe off. And when Harry glances up, Louis can't find it within himself to wipe the stupid, heart-eye expression off his face. He's just drunk enough that he doesn't care if Harry sees him stare.

 

"What?" Harry asks, a shy, private smile spreading across his face.

 

"Nothing. It's just nice to see you like this."

 

"See me like what?"

 

"Waiting on me hand and foot."

 

Harry laughs and tries to feign anger. "I'd like to see you try and give it a go with these laces. Why the fuck do you double-knot your shoes, Tomlinson?"

 

"So they never come undone," Louis says defensively.

 

Harry chuckles again, softer this time. He tosses both shoes aside and stands up, pushing his unruly hair back.

 

"Well," Louis says, feeling awkward all of the sudden. What is he supposed to say: Thanks for untying my laces, I'll try not to get quite so wasted next time? Yeah, no.

 

"Where's your phone?" Harry asks.

 

"My what?" Louis can't believe Harry is asking about his phone. It's enough to make him forget what a phone is altogether.

 

"Your phone. I'm going to put my number in. You can text me if you need anything else and I'll come right down."

 

"It's here." Louis fishes it out of his back pocket and hands it to Harry.

 

Harry hands it back after a moment. "You can keep my coat for now."

 

"Oh." Louis forgot he was wearing Harry's coat and starts to struggle out of it. "I'll give it back."

 

"You can give it back tomorrow, Louis. Seriously."

 

"Okay." Louis imagines how ridiculously easy it'll be to fall asleep in Harry's oversize coat and his football-print pajamas. "G'night, then."

 

"Night." Harry closes the door softly behind him and Louis flops back against his pillows. His head is spinning, but it all comes back to one question: What the hell happened tonight?

 

He drags himself up to put on the pajama pants, then he climbs beneath the covers and checks his phone. Pretending he's drunker than he really is now that the alcohol is starting to wear off, Louis texts Harry.

 

Louis Tomlinson: Miss you already, Haz.

 

A reply comes back moments later.

 

Harry Styles: That nickname is better coming from you than Darren.  
Harry Styles: Feel free to continue using it.

 

Louis gets a knotted feeling of excitement in his stomach and quickly types back.

 

Louis Tomlinson: Okay, I think I will.  
Louis Tomlinson: Haz.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day, Liam asks Louis if they can hang out and talk about what happened at the pub. Louis says okay and meets him outside the dormitory, still wearing Harry's coat. He hasn't taken it off since Harry gave it to him, which will change as soon as he's done chatting with Liam. His smell is starting to become overpowering, and he really needs to shower off the drunken events of last night.

 

Liam seems nervous as they start walking, but eventually begins to open up. Louis decides that he likes Liam, with his subtle humor and easygoing personality. He's not the type of guy you become instant friends with in the lift, but Louis likes him nonetheless.

 

They walk through the trees that border the school, avoiding shallow puddles and discussing the upcoming football match. Then there's a silence and Louis takes a breath, readying himself to ask what the hell happened after Zayn broke up their dance party. But, to his surprise, Liam starts right in without prompting.

 

"So last night was wild." Liam scratches at the bridge of his nose, looking a little bewildered. "Me and Zayn…we hooked up at the pub."

 

Louis' eyes bug out and it takes all his self-control to not press for more details immediately. Was he really so wrapped up in Harry Styles that he'd neglected to notice his teammates grinding on the dancefloor and slipping off to a more private area? Of course, he left soon after ordering Zayn's drinks, so how could he have noticed?

 

"It was amazing," Liam continues. "Like, we didn't dance or anything. I think maybe he thought it was too public. Kenny and Ed just sitting right there. He whispered in my ear that we should go to the bathroom, and I wanted to say no. You know, wait until we could have a proper conversation and all that. But I was hard as soon as he said the words, and we--yeah, we just went for it."

 

"You went for it?" Louis doesn't want to ask what this means, exactly. But he still wants to know.

 

"Just blow jobs," Liam elaborates. "And we only took a few minutes so it wasn't suspicious. Then we headed back to the table and he acted like nothing had changed. Even had a couple more drinks with Ed and Kenny. Niall came back completely smashed. You were long gone…where'd you go?"

 

"Long story," Louis says evasively, wanting to focus on Liam for the time being. "So did you talk about it once you got back to the dorms? Did he text you?"

 

"No. That's the problem. He posted a picture of us on Instagram--him and all us guys--and the caption was just: 'Great night with the lads.'"

 

"You need to talk to him."

 

"I fuckin' know. But how? I'm afraid it was just a quickie for him, nothing more. I don't think he really gives a shit."

 

"That's why you have to communicate with him. If that was just a one-off, he's a prat and you're better off without him."

 

"I'll talk to him before the first match." Liam nods, seeming to warm up to the idea right before Louis' eyes. "Yeah…sometime before the first match, I'll figure this all out."

 

***

 

Louis is up before dawn on Saturday. He goes on a short run to burn off some excess energy and showers off ice-cold rainwater and mud once he's done. He wraps a towel around his torso and wanders back down the hall to his room, slick shower sandals slapping at the ground. Before he reaches his door, the lift shudders to a halt and the doors open. Harry is standing there, dressed more casually than Louis has ever seen before. He's wearing Adidas joggers and a white T-shirt and his hair is still rumpled from sleep.

 

"Harry," Louis says, keeping his shocked voice down because people are obviously still sleeping. "What're you doing?"

 

"Came to get my coat." Harry steps off the lift and waves his phone for Louis to see. "I texted you."

 

"I left my phone in my room," Louis says. "But I have your coat hanging up if you wanna come in."

 

He opens the door to his room and Harry follows him inside. Louis is painfully aware of his half-nakedness as he sets his shampoo down and opens his armoire. He glances at Harry out of the corner of his eye as he slides the coat of the hanger. He is worried that Harry will be appraising him with an indifferent gaze. Or worse, that Harry will not looking his way altogether. But instead, Harry's eyes are raking over Louis' body. His green eyes shine darkly with something Louis can't quite place, but it sends a little thrill of danger sparking through every part of him.

 

"H-here you go," he says, holding the coat out.

 

"Thank you, Louis," Harry says, oddly formal considering he's speaking to someone dressed in nothing more than a towel.

 

"Yup. Thanks for letting me borrow it."

 

They stand like that for a few moments, Harry's piercing stare completely immobilizing Louis. He realizes he's not breathing and tries to draw in a breath, but it's halting and shallow. Harry's shirt is so thin he can just make out the dark ink underneath, and he wants so badly to lick each one and tell Harry just how beautiful he is. But he doesn't.

 

"I've got a match in a couple hours," Louis chokes. "I gotta get ready."

 

"Why did you shower right before a match?"

 

"Went for a run. I wanted to wash the mud off before I put on my new uniform."

 

Harry nods, letting his eyes continue to roam. "So…what time is the match?"

 

"Starts at eight."

 

"Smashing." Harry pulls his coat on and heads for the door. "It's okay if I'm just another screaming fan in the stands, then? I have a bullhorn that makes an awful siren noise. I'll pull it out if it seems like you need a little pick-me-up."

 

Before Louis can say that no, that he does not want Harry to come, he needs to be able to focus on the match, the door closes and Harry is gone. Louis sinks onto his bed and rolls his eyes, telling himself not to worry. Harry will probably be a no-show. He just wanted to get Louis all riled up right before leaving, which seems quite aggravatingly typical of Harry. Haz. Harry. Louis can't decide what to call him because he's not sure if he wants to start thinking of Harry in terms of endearment. Won't that just make it harder to ignore the feelings that surface whenever Harry comes around?

 

Two hours later, Louis is dressed and heading to the pitch with Niall and Liam. The very Liam who admitted that he did not end up talking to Zayn about the events of last Friday, and is thus still upset. Louis wants to talk more about it, but it'll have to wait until after the game since Niall is around.

 

The pitch is more formal than the fields where they practice. It has proper stands and locker rooms and everything. Zayn is already there when they arrive, deep in conversation with Coach Kelley. Louis only met Coach Kelley a few days before, because Coach Kelley is also Professor Kelley and it's often difficult for him to be in two places at once. Whenever he teaches a class that conflicts with practice, he asks Zayn to be in charge of drills.

 

The whole team is gathered within a few minutes and Coach Kelley starts to relay the game plan. Basically, the team they're up against is stacked. He doesn't come right out and say it, but Coach Kelley thinks there's no way in hell Louis and his mates are getting out of this one alive.

 

When they run out onto the pitch, Louis is focused. He stretches alongside Niall and they hardly talk. Even if they were to talk, it'd be nearly impossible to hear what the other was saying over the dull roar of the crowd. Seriously, Louis didn't know the school had so many students. But now, with the bleachers full up, he feels a surge of pride. Regardless of whether Harry Styles is in the crowd, he needs to win today.

 

They run out onto the groomed field for kickoff. The first half is fast-paced and the scoreboard rests at zero-zero when they go to regroup in the locker room. Louis wipes a towel across his face, willing his hammering heart to settle down as Coach Kelley details the strategy he wants to see in the second half.

 

When they jog out of the locker rooms, Louis is not nearly as focused as he was before. He barely picks his feet up, shuffling to the sidelines and hoping that his team can keep the opposition at bay for the remainder of the match. If they end up going to penalty kicks, they might actually have a chance.

 

The second half is just as fast, if not faster, than the first. Louis feels sweat stinging at the corners of his eyes as he races from one side of the pitch to the other. For a while it doesn't feel like he's playing football, but sprinting suicides. Finally, the game ends and the scoreboard still reads zero-zero. Overtime goes the same way, which means penalty kicks.

 

Zayn goes first and scores. He comes back to the team with his arms raised high, punching the air a little. Liam is the only teammate that doesn't clap him on the shoulder in congratulations.

 

It goes back and forth like that until it's Louis turn. Suddenly, it dawns on him: This kick is going to decide the match. If he scores, they win. Simple as that.

 

He squares up to the ball, nerves radiating like heat from all over his body. There's a part of him that wants to cave under the pressure and just telling the referee to let the other team win. That way, there'd be no chance in embarrassing himself with a particularly awful shot.

 

Just as this thought crosses his mind, a horrible sound rises up from the stands. Louis looks over, seeing students clambering to cover their ears against the biting noise. And there, in the middle of it all, is Harry. Holding a bullhorn up high and waving good luck at the most critical moment of the whole game. It should fuck up Louis' focus, but it doesn't. If anything, he feels sharper as the siren goes silent and so do the stands. Somehow, Harry's bullhorn made the entire pitch go quiet for this moment. And now it's up to Louis to make the most of it.

 

He lines up and drills the ball into the back of the net. The keeper can't even get a fingertip on it before it smashes into the goal and seals their win. Louis lets out a triumphant whoop and feels the hands of his teammates lifting him up and carrying him around the field like a king. They set him down and Niall gives him a sloppy hug.

 

"Party tonight!" he declares, shouting into Louis' ear to be heard above the noise. "Me and Ed share, so we have a double-sized room. We'll host!"

 

"Fuck yes," Louis says, giving his friend a final squeeze. They break apart and Louis scans the pitch for Harry and his ridiculously shrill bullhorn. He feels this desperate need to find Harry and thank him for his contribution to the winning goal. But after pacing the full length of the bleachers, Louis realizes that Harry must have left already. He's disappointed, but reckons Harry will show up at the afterparty. After all, the whole dorm will be there. If there's not enough space in Niall's room, they'll just spill out into the hall. And since everyone will be at the party, there'll be no one to go to the professors with a noise complaint.

 

Louis throws an arm around Niall's neck and gets close to his ear, "Shall we head into town to grab a spot of alcohol?"

 

Niall grins. "A lot more than a spot, mate. But yeah, you're on the right track."


	8. Chapter 8

Later that night, Louis is sardine-packed into Niall and Ed's room. Some random guy he's noticed staring at him in the cafeteria keeps asking him to dance and Louis keeps saying no. It's not that the guy isn't cute. He's actually really, really cute. And he's got a Swedish accent that's better than cute--maybe even hot. Under normal circumstances, Louis would've let the guy lead him out to the dancefloor and grind against him while all their classmates got progressively more wasted. But tonight he can't keep from glancing toward the door, waiting impatiently for Harry to come sauntering down from the top floor. He knows he'll be able to see Harry's mess of dark waves over the rest of the crowd, but it's been nearly an hour of keeping the Swedish guy at bay and Harry still hasn't shown. He's probably the type to show up fashionably late, but still. This is bogus.

 

Louis pulls his phone out of his pocket and types out a quick text.

 

Louis Tomlinson: I need to thank you for that match-winning assist. You coming to Niall's room?

 

He waits for the reply, holding his phone in front of his face so the Swedish guy can see how disinterested Louis is in joining him for a dance. Finally, his screen lights up with Harry's new contact name and Louis opens it immediately.

 

Harry Styles (Haz): Sorry, too tired.

 

Louis just stares, waiting for a follow-up text. Where's the, "Haha, just kidding, I'll be right down"? Surely Harry's not going to sit this one out with such a bullshit excuse. He wouldn't opt for a night alone in his room instead of a victory party. Right?

 

When another text doesn't come, Louis makes the decision to take matters into his own hands. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and pushes through the packed students until he reaches the lift. He jabs at the button impatiently until the doors open and rides it to the top floor.

 

It's quiet up here, the thumping music absorbed by the floor. Louis steps into the hallway and sinks into the plush red carpet. Moonlight spills through the windows, silver and mingling with the yellow light coming from under Harry's door. Louis takes a deep breath, fighting the urge to hop right back on the lift and grind against the Swedish guy until Harry's a hazy, faded memory.

 

Before he can talk himself out of it, he imagines Coach Kelley and Zayn on either side of him, yelling in unison, "Knock on the sodding door!" So he does, and Harry opens it a moment later.

 

"Hi," Louis says, forgetting how to say anything else. Because Harry is wearing nothing but the Adidas joggers from this morning and his tattoos are on full display. There's a butterfly spreading its wings across his sternum, twin swallows beneath his collarbones, and fern leaves marking out the territory of his hipbones. Louis gulps and tries to remember why he came up here in the first place. "You're missing the party."

 

"I told you I was tired," Harry says, not moving to invite Louis inside.

 

"And I call bullshit," Louis retorts, surprised at his bluntness. "I played a whole bloody football match this morning and I'm not tired."

 

"I'm going to sit this one out."

 

"I'll sit it out with you." Louis slips past Harry and takes a seat in the office chair in front of the cluttered desk.

 

"Won't Niall miss you?" Harry mutters, letting the door fall closed.

 

Louis stares, wondering if it's possible that Harry is jealous of the hugs Louis shared with Niall in the frenzied aftermath of their win.

 

"I'm pretty sure he's too busy flirting with this girl he likes to notice if I'm gone."

 

"Oh?" Harry's eyebrows go up for a split-second, shocking Louis. It seems impossible, but Harry was jealous of the affection he'd seen between Louis and Niall down on the pitch.

 

Harry reaches over Louis and grabs a half-full bottle of scotch from his desk. He takes a seat on the edge of his bed and unscrews the cap, offering it to Louis.

 

"I've already had a few," Louis says, feeling pleasantly buzzed now that he's figured out the root of Harry's recent weirdness.

 

Harry nods and takes a swig. "Good game today. That penalty shot was fucking fantastic."

 

"I had some help," Louis says, grinning.

 

"You've been playing football for a while?"

 

"Practically my whole life. My sisters would gang up against me in the backyard, so I had to be good. Almost broke my leg once, trying to score a goal against all of them."

 

Harry laughs, dimples deepening in a way that makes Louis' stomach flip-flop.

 

"How many sisters do you have?"

 

"Six."

 

"No way."

 

"I'm serious. So you can understand why it was ridiculously unfair when they teamed up against me." He smiles and swivels the chair so he can kick his feet up next to a stack of books on Harry's desk. "I miss them a lot. They text me these terrible selfies all the time. With double-chins and stuff."

 

"Do you send double-chin pictures back?"

 

"Of course," Louis laughs before flashing Harry a suspicious look. "But if you think I'm going to show you any of them, think again."

 

"Oh, c'mon Louis. Please show me? I promise I won't laugh."

 

Louis kind of likes the sound of Harry begging for something, so he grabs his phone and scrolls through his camera roll. He finds a particularly awful picture he took after practice last week and turns the screen so Harry can see it. The effect is instantaneous: Harry's brow furrows as he tries hard not to laugh and then he claps a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

 

"Well fucking done keeping your promise," Louis grumbles. But he can't help smiling at how adorable Harry looks right now, unable to contain his mirth. He puts his phone away and Harry's laughter subsides and they sit in silence for a moment, grinning stupidly at one another.

 

"I was going to watch a movie on my laptop," Harry says after a long pause. "Wanna join?"

 

"Yes," Louis says immediately. He doesn't even have to think about it. "What movie?"

 

"We can check out Netflix. Go ahead and get the lights."

 

Louis turns the lights off and Harry opens his laptop. The room is completely dark save for the dull blue glow of his screen, wrapping around him like a halo. Louis has never seen a holier sight than this: shirtless Harry Styles hunched over his computer, his face open and vulnerable as he waits for Louis to join him on the bed. Right. The bed.

 

Louis sits on the blanket next to Harry, careful to not bump into Harry's legs. Harry reaches behind them and adjusts his pillow so that they can recline, and then they are lying down with just a couple inches of charged air between them. Louis is thankful when Harry pulls the blankets up because he can't stop staring at the gentle curve of Harry's tattooed fern leaves. And the very sight of them is giving him a hard-on that's very hard to ignore.

 

They end up watching Sabrina, an old movie with Harrison Ford that's romantic but not too romantic. Thanks to the drinks, they laugh at all the wrong parts and talk about Harry's sister instead of paying close attention to the plot. At one point, Harry moves so that his elbow is gently nudging against Louis arm. Louis thinks it's an accident, but Harry doesn't pull away. Feeling bold, Louis lightly brushes Harry's forearm in a way that might seem accidental. He feels Harry's soft skin beneath his sensitive fingertips and barely suppresses a sigh of longing.

 

Louis quickly draws his hand away and turns his attention back to the movie.

 

"You can leave your hand there, if you want."

 

Louis nearly jumps and looks up at Harry, shocked. Clearly the touch was not subtle.

 

"A-are you sure?"

 

In response, Harry takes Louis hand and places it on his arm, right above the inked anchor. He keeps his hand above Louis', their fingers almost laced together. They stay like that for the rest of the movie, arms and hands touching in ways that should make Louis nervous. After all, he is lying in Harry Styles' bed. But he's too comfortable to be nervous. As the movie continues, the tiring events of the day catch up to him and his eyes drift close. When he falls asleep this time, Harry doesn't wake him.


	9. Chapter 9

Zayn pulls Louis aside after practice about a week later.

 

"What's up?" Louis says, adjusting his duffel bag strap. His parents shipped all his soccer equipment, so he's finally outfitted like a proper footballer.

 

"You've gotten pretty close with Liam, haven't you?" Zayn doesn't quite look at Louis while he asks the question. He kicks at a dirt clod and Louis watches it bounce across the grass. 

 

"Sure," Louis says with a shrug. He tries to sound nonchalant, but he has a feeling that he knows where this is going.

 

"Has he…has he said anything about me lately? Because he's been ignoring me during practice and it feels really shitty. I'm worried I might've done something wrong."

 

"Uh. I mean--Zayn, you should probably just talk to him yourself."

 

"No, yeah. I know. It's just that…sorry, I shouldn't have asked. Probably put you in a right awkward position."

 

"It's okay. But honestly, I think Liam will be able to clear things up a lot better than I ever could."

 

As they start walking back toward the dormitory, it's all Louis can do to stop himself from asking flat-out if Zayn has feelings for Liam. But he manages to bite back any commentary and then Zayn is wondering, "What's Harry doing out here?"

 

Louis glances to the left and sees Harry wandering from the professors' offices, hands in the pockets of his now-familiar coat. He can't help a small smile from sneaking onto his face at the sight of Harry coming over to meet him after practice. They'd texted about it that morning, Louis holding his phone beneath his desk so the professor wouldn't confiscate it.

 

"You could look a little less pleased," Zayn teases, shoving Louis lightly.

 

"Shut up," Louis says, shoving right back. "And go talk to Liam, okay? I don't like watching you two torturing yourselves. We gotta be a team."

 

Zayn nods. "I'm gonna go see him right now. Later, Louis."

 

He takes off at a jog toward the dorms and Louis changes directions so that he's on a collision course with Harry. They meet on a grassy knoll and exchange a quick hug that sends Louis' insides running for England. Being near Harry makes him feel queasy and tingly and horribly wonderful.

 

The morning after Louis fell asleep in Harry's bed, he'd woken up with one of Harry's arms thrown across his chest protectively. Like he was keeping Louis there, keeping him safe. He lay perfectly still for a long while, marveling at how beautiful Harry was in sleep. The sharp definition of his face was softened, his eyelashes fluttered lightly like he was deep in a dream, and Louis was entranced. There was nothing quite like waking up next to Harry Styles.

 

And once Harry woke up, things weren't awkward like Louis anticipated. As his eyes blinked open, he just took in the way his arm was instinctively holding onto Louis and flashed a crooked, sleepy smile.

 

"Well isn't that something," was all he said. And they've been hanging out off-and-on ever since.

 

"Hello," Louis says, feeling that charge of nervousness shoot up his spine, electric. "Fancy meeting you here."

 

"I hope you don't think I'm stalking you," Harry says in mock seriousness.

 

"I mean, you show up right when practice is through. What am I supposed to think?"

 

"Is this what being caught red-handed feels like?"

 

Louis laughs. "I think this is the very definition of being caught red-handed, Harold."

 

"Harold?" Harry looks surprised and seems to consider for a moment, tapping his lips thoughtfully with an index finger. "Why not Haz?"

 

"The moment called for Harold."

 

Harry nods, accepting this. "So what shall we do this afternoon, Louis?"

 

The question fills Louis with such elation, he's surprised he doesn't start drifting up into the rain-soaked sky. The question is the promise of so many things, but mostly it's the promise of several uninterrupted hours of just him and Harry.

 

"I have an idea. If you're game for a surprise, that is."

 

"Lead the way."

 

They chat the entire way to the dorms and take the lift to the top floor. When Harry stops at his room and grabs his key, Louis shakes his head.

 

"Where are we going?" Harry asks, trailing Louis down the hall.

 

Louis opens one of the soundproof booths and holds the door open for Harry.

 

"When we met, I thought singing in front of you was the worst thing that could've ever happened. I wanted to drop out and go back to England, honestly. But now…I dunno. I kind of want to sing for you in a proper soundproof booth. If you're okay listening."

 

Harry takes a seat at the piano bench and drops his leather satchel to the ground.

 

"I'm all ears," he says, leaning back against the wall and stretching his ridiculously long legs out.

 

Louis sets his duffel bag near the door and does a couple jumping jacks to loosen up. He takes a deep breath and lets it slowly out. The booth is smaller than any of the dorm rooms, but it doesn't feel claustrophobic as he stands in front of Harry, about to share the thing he cares so much about and render himself extremely vulnerable.

 

"You're cute when you're nervous," Harry murmurs, a smile quirking the corners of his lips.

 

Louis doesn't know what to do with offhandedly-affectionate comments like this. Sometimes it feels like he and Harry are navigating a space between friendship and more-than without really acknowledging it. But Harry's so forward, he'd tell Louis if he was interested in anything more than friendship. Right?

 

Instead of responding directly, Louis starts to sing a capella. He sings an original song he wrote almost a year ago and performed for his sisters to mixed reviews. One said it was brilliant, another said it was angsty. Louis could live with brilliant and angsty. Isn't that what people love about the Smiths?

 

When he's done, his eyes are closed. He waits for Harry, the prodigal student, to laugh and show him how it's really done. But the booth is completely quiet, and it's the kind of quiet you'd find in church. A kind of hushed reverence.

 

"Lou," Harry says, calling Louis by a nickname for the first time. "Can I take you to dinner?"

 

Louis' eyes fly open and he stares. "Uh--why?"

 

"Because that was fucking gorgeous, Lou. Did you write that?"

 

Louis nods.

 

"You don't need this place. God, you're already an artist. Please, let me take you to dinner. We need to celebrate that performance with something better than cafeteria food."

 

Louis looks at the ground, a little shy. "C'mon, Harry. It wasn't that good."

 

"Louis Tomlinson," Harry says sternly.

 

"Harold Styles," Louis says, meeting Harry's eye.

 

"Say you'll let me take you to dinner."

 

Louis smiles. He can't help it. "I'll let you take me to dinner."


	10. Chapter 10

Harry calls in a reservation during the drive into town. Louis practically squirms in his seat, wondering how out-of-place he'll look in his sweaty football jersey. If they're going to the type of place that takes reservations, won't he look hopelessly underdressed? When he voices this, Harry waves his concern away and says that any singer/songwriter as talented as Louis shouldn't have to dress up for something as droll as dinner. Louis blushes at this, thankful Harry's eyes are trained on the road ahead. He's surprised at how naturally compliments seem to roll off Harry's tongue--almost as if it's nothing. But it's not nothing. Already, he can't wait to go back to the soundproof booths and work on a new song. Part of this desire is self-motivated, part of it is Harry.

 

They park in the same lot as last time, Harry pulling smoothly into one of the last available spaces. He turns the headlights off and fishes for an umbrella in the backseat.

 

"I only have one," he says, apologetic. "You mind sharing?"

 

Louis shakes his head, maybe a little too quickly. He most definitely doesn't mind sharing.

 

"Sit tight and I'll come round." Harry opens his door and unfolds the umbrella in one swift motion. Louis waits with his door closed until Harry is standing right outside.

 

"Better not get wet," Louis says in mock warning. He closes the door and huddles under the umbrella. "These are my best clothes, in case you hadn't noticed."

 

"Wait--I have the perfect thing." Harry takes hold of Louis' arm like it's the most casual thing in the world and steers him toward the trunk. "I don't want you catching cold and not being able to sing. Which seems like a possibility, given the fact that you neglected to bring a jacket."

 

"I came straight from practice!" Louis says, indignant.

 

Harry smiles to show he's only teasing and pops the trunk open. Inside, there are some odds-and-ends like a flashlight and what looks like an old computer charger. Harry sifts around and pulls out a tartan blanket, looking quite fucking pleased with himself. Louis just gapes.

 

"No fuckin' way, Harold. You expect me to wear my dirty football jersey and a sodding blanket into a restaurant that takes reservations!?"

 

"Speaking of your dirty football jersey, I think this blanket might dress it up quite nicely. Make you a little more presentable." Harry's green eyes twinkle with humored electricity as he swaddles Louis' shoulders in the thick, wooly fabric. "There. You look like you stepped out of Macbeth."

 

"Great," Louis says, rolling his eyes. "Because that's the look I'm going for. 400 years old and murderous."

 

"You make 400 years old and murderous look surprisingly cute. Shall we?"

 

The "shall we" is almost lost on Louis, who is once again struck by a compliment that seemed to spring from Harry's lips without a single care.

 

"Erm, yeah," he says after a moment's pause. "Lead the way."

 

He tries to give Harry a little space, but under the small umbrella their shoulders keep bumping and Louis can smell the soft spice of Harry's cologne. The scent makes him want to bury his face in Harry's neck and breathe it in until there's nothing left to smell. He glances at Harry out of the corner of his eye and catches him staring right back.

 

"What're you looking at, Tomlinson?" Harry grins, cheeks dimpling. And God, Louis hates what Harry's crooked smiles do to him.

 

"Nothing," he says, caught. He feels his face heat up and looks away. "So where is this place?"

 

"Right across the street," Harry says, pointing with his free hand.

 

Louis glances down at his muddy trainers and tartan blanket, trying not to panic. Leave it to Harry to take him to the most posh place in a fifty-mile radius of the school. And leave it to Harry to let Louis show up to the most posh place looking like a swamp creature. Granted, Louis is now a warm, blanket-wrapped swamp creature. But that really doesn't make the situation much better.

 

"Don't worry. The tables are spread far apart and no one will notice what you're wearing. But if you're uncomfortable we can just get some chips and call it a night."

 

Louis is uncomfortable, but he doesn't want this to prevent them from the reservation. Besides, there's a large part of him that trusts Harry. If he doesn't think anyone will notice, Louis is game to enjoy the posh restaurant.

 

"No, I'm okay. Let's give it a go."

 

"Great." Harry smiles then, relieved. And Louis thinks that he'd probably go to a thousand posh restaurants dressed in a blanket if it meant seeing Harry smile. "I think you'll like it."

 

They reach the awning at the front of the brick-sided restaurant and Harry collapses the umbrella. He opens the door for Louis and follows close behind. A friendly-looking host is standing there, her face open and clearly not judging Louis' ridiculous getup. He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

 

"Do you have a reservation?" she asks cheerily.

 

"Yes. It's under Harry Styles."

 

"Got it. We have you at one of the back booths. Does that work for you?"

 

Harry nods politely and gestures for Louis to walk ahead of him. The restaurant is crowded, especially for an evening in the middle of the week. But Louis likes the bustle. He was worried that moving to a town in rural Scotland would feel too isolated, but with the lively pubs and restaurants, it's not so bad.

 

The hostess seats them and tells them that a server will be over to get them started with drinks. Louis pretends to look over his menu, but really he's just noticing his proximity to Harry in their secluded booth. The table is round, and rather than having two bench seats, there's just one that wraps around the table like a semicircle. It allows them to be sitting side-by-side, the corners of their menus overlapping. Louis is close enough to smell Harry's musky cologne again, even in the midst of a crowded restaurant. He breathes though his mouth a few times to clear his head.

 

"What looks good?" Harry asks after a few moments of deliberation.

 

"Good? Oh--er." The first thing that came to Louis mind was Harry. Harry looks so fucking good, his legs stretched out beneath the table and his hair slightly mussed from running his hands through it. As for things that look good on the menu, he doesn't have a clue.

 

"Not sure yet," he says. "Do you know what you're getting?"

 

"Probably the haggis-topped pizza. It's really good, if you can handle haggis."

 

It sounds almost like a challenge, so Louis sits a little taller and sets his menu aside. "I can handle haggis."

 

A smile tugs at the corner of Harry's lips and he sets his menu on top of Louis'. "Have you had haggis before?"

 

"Well, no. But I've had bangers and mash."

 

"It doesn't taste the same."

 

Louis rolls his eyes, already firmly set on the haggis pizza. "It's the same general idea. But if you'd rather split the salad, I suppose we could do that."

 

Harry looks vaguely horrified at the idea of choosing salad over pizza, which Louis thinks is a very rational response. When their server comes, they order pints and a large haggis pizza to share. Louis' stomach grumbles and he realizes that he hasn't eaten since breakfast. It's a wonder he didn't pass out at practice.

 

"So now that you've gushed about my song, I think it's fair you tell me a little about what you're working on."

 

Louis expects Harry to jump right in and tell him about all the incredible things he's doing alongside the professors. Instead, Harry drags his long fingers through his hair and almost rolls his eyes.

 

"Honestly, I'm not working on a single fucking thing. At least, nothing related to music. Darren just has me grading papers and doing research for him. I go to the library a lot and look up stuff. But there's nothing creative about it. I was asked to assist him because of my music, and now it's like I'm not allowed to work on music."

 

"I'm sorry," Louis says, genuinely surprised. "I figured they'd have you doing loads of creative stuff."

 

"Me too. I've called my parents and told them how bloody pointless it is, but I can't switch now. It'd look bad if I quit helping the professors and could ruin future prospects."

 

"But that's so unfair."

 

Harry shrugs, more defeated than Louis has ever seen him. "It's the way it goes. At least I only have to do a year of it, right? Then I'm free to go back to the life of a normal student."

 

"If you're not working on music for school, then you've got to do it in your free time. What if we made a pact to focus on music each weekday after my football practice? That way you have a schedule forcing you to be creative."

 

Harry laughs and nudges his elbow gently against Louis' arm. "You're so busy already. I don't wanna add another obligation."

 

Louis practically gapes. The fact that Harry could see himself as an obligation is truly mind-boggling.

 

"We'll start tomorrow, in the booths," he says, taking a long sip of his beer.

 

"You're sure?" Harry looks shyly at the table, avoiding Louis' gaze. In a rare moment of boldness, Louis cups Harry's chin so their eyes lock.

 

"If you're not there at seven pm sharp, I'm giving you detention."

 

"You wouldn't," Harry gasps in horror, making Louis laugh.

 

"Don't tempt me."

 

A quiet moment passes before Louis realizes that his fingers are still touching Harry's chin, just itching to feel along the hard lines of his devastatingly sharp jawbone. He pulls away and busies himself with his pint until the pizza arrives. He tells himself that it's nothing--that these lusty feelings he has toward Harry have to do only with his unfairly good looks. Just as he thinks this, Harry stretches his arms overhead. His shirt rides up a little, exposing a stretch of taught stomach muscles and those sweeping fern tattoos. And yeah, Louis is glad he has a napkin covering his lap because getting glimpses of Harry's body like that may have an effect on him.

 

But as much as he doesn't want to admit it, his feelings toward Harry are much more complex than the rush of blood to his cock. They split the pizza evenly, cracking jokes about the origins of haggis and pausing every so often to take a swig of beer. When Louis drips sauce on his chin, Harry wipes it away with his thumb. The entire evening is so comfortable, Louis knows that whatever he feels toward Harry is more than lust. And this scares the hell out of him.


	11. Chapter 11

The car is quiet on the drive back. Harry turns the volume up on a Pink Floyd CD and Louis taps along with the drums against his leg.

 

"You like this one?" Harry asks, glancing over.

 

"Yeah, it's great." Louis ducks his head, a little embarrassed. He quietly admits, "Actually, I've never heard it before."

 

"Glad I get to be the one to introduce you." Harry flashes a lazy grin and drives easily through the curves in the road. They pull smoothly past the front gates and park in the professors' lot. When Harry moves his hand to take his keys out of the ignition, Louis moves to stop him. It's almost instinctual, caused by how much he wants to just keep sitting here in the semidarkness.

 

"Maybe we can listen for a few more minutes?" he asks, moving his hand into his lap.

 

Harry is silent, so Louis looks up to see if anything is wrong. But the look Harry is giving him is anything but hostile. It's syrup, warm and sticking to every part of Louis. He wants to reach out and brush his hands from the rise of Harry's cheekbones to the softness of his parted lips. He wants to touch him so badly. So he does.

 

Harry's breath catches when Louis starts trailing gentle fingers across his face. Louis expects him to pull away, to ask what the fuck he thinks he's doing and hurry inside the dorm. But Harry leans into the touch, letting Louis' palm lightly caress his cheek.

 

"I--I've wanted to do this," Louis breathes, his voice quieter than a whisper. "Wanted to do this for a while."

 

Harry smiles at that, so Louis lets his fingers trace the dips of the dimples that appear and feels himself smiling back.

 

"I like these," he murmurs, emboldened by Harry's obvious enjoyment of his touching.

 

Harry smirks and takes Louis' wandering hand into his own, much larger hands.

 

"Wanna know what I've wanted for a while?" Harry drawls, tucking a bit of Louis' hair back from his forehead.

 

Before Louis can answer, Harry leans in and presses his lips against his cheek. He lingers there for a moment, warm breath soft against Louis skin. Then he dips toward Louis' parted lips and kisses him slowly. The feeling of his full lips is even better than Louis imagined. He can't help but breathe a small sigh of contentment at the light pressure of Harry against him, the way Harry is tangling his long fingers into the hair above Louis' neck to hold him in place.

 

The sigh turns into an involuntary gasp of excitement when Harry tugs at Louis' hair so his face is tilted at an angle to allow him better access. Louis lets his lips fall slightly open, allowing Harry's tongue access as the kiss deepens. Louis' body bows forward and he's suddenly frustrated at the center console for coming between them. As he leans further across his seat, his hard-on presses against the center console and…it's not all that bad, actually. Louis' is embarrassed, but having something against his aching cock relieves some of the sexual frustration that's starting to swell inside him as Harry scrapes his teeth lightly across the tingling surface of Louis' bottom lip. He grinds his hips forward, cheeks burning when an audible groan escapes. He quickly pulls away and adjusts the blanket so it's fully covering his lap.

 

"I--er, sorry," he says to the steering wheel.

 

"'m not upset. I like hearing you." Harry's voice is husky, evidence of their heated snogging, and Louis thinks he could get off just listening to Harry talk like this. "But I'm sorry if that was too much."

 

"No," Louis says quickly, looking at Harry in alarm. The last thing he wants is for Harry to think Louis doesn't like kissing him. "Harry, that was--I mean." He clears his throat. "It wasn't bad, Styles."

 

Harry grins and all Louis can think about is that minutes ago, he was touching those fucking dimples. Is it bad that he wants to be the only person who gets to do that, ever?

 

"As much as I wanna keep going, we should probably call it a night." Harry seems to come to this conclusion with some difficulty, raking a hand through his hair and shaking out the knots caused by Louis' hanging on for dear life. "But maybe…I'd like to take you out again soon, if that's okay with you. Like, a real date. I mean, this was supposed to be a date. But I didn't know how you felt, so I thought it might be weird if I called it a date. If you wanna call this our first date, though, I'd--"

 

Louis silences him with a gentle kiss and they both pull away smiling.

 

"I loved our first date," he says shyly.

 

"Me too," Harry says quietly. He gets out of the car and comes around to Louis' side so they can share the umbrella again. They walk to the dorm, hands and shoulders bumping in ways that make them laugh conspiratorially. When they get to the lift, Harry leans down to kiss the sensitive skin beneath Louis' earlobes and Louis feels his knees get wobbly. When they get to Louis' floor, Harry steps back and lets him exit the lift.

 

"Uh, I don't want this to be weird," Louis whispers, holding his hand out so the doors won't close between them. "But I might…well, I might get off tonight. To you. I might get off tonight to you, if that's okay?" His hand is shaking by the end of his stammered speech, and he hopes more than anything that Harry isn't completely disturbed by his confession.

 

"It's more than okay, Lou," Harry says, lips almost brushing Louis' ear as he whispers. "I might get off to you, too."

 

Louis hand falls away at that, too shocked and happy to continue functioning like a proper hand. His last glimpse of Harry Styles is so devastatingly beautiful, he thinks he might have to go take a lengthy shower right now. And he's hardly embarrassed about it.


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning, Louis meets up with Niall and the two go to the cafeteria for breakfast. Louis grabs a couple pieces of toast and some jam, but he can hardly think about eating. He's doing a lousy job trying to stop himself from scanning the room for Harry.

 

"Someone joining us?" Niall asks as they sit down at an empty table.

 

"No." Louis busies himself with spreading the jam over his toast and forces himself to just. Keep. Staring. At the table. Nowhere else.

 

"So did you hear about Zayn and Liam?"

 

Louis' eyebrows shoot up and he almost forgets about Harry for a moment. The events of yesterday afternoon come flooding back: Walking with Zayn from practice, suggesting he talk to Liam. Oh God, did he ruin everything by telling Zayn to talk to Liam? Somehow, the toast looks even less tempting now.

 

"What's happened?"

 

Niall shrugs. "Ed was hanging with Liam after practice and Zayn showed up all nervous and un-Zayn-like. Told Liam he has feelings for him, right in front of Ed and everything. I think he wanted to make it a little dramatic, y'know?"

 

"What'd Liam do?" Louis' anxiety disappears and is replaced by excitement for his friends. What were the chances that things would start looking up for them the night he kissed Harry for the first time?

 

"Said he has feelings right back. Then Ed left before it turned into a big snog-fest. But yeah, I'm happy for them."

 

"That's really great," Louis says, pulling his phone out. "I'm gonna text them really quick, just to say congrats."

 

Louis Tomlinson: NIALL TOLD ME THE NEWS.  
Louis Tomlinson: HAPPY FOR YOU MATE!!!

 

If his all-caps messages seem a little overzealous, it's because he can't help connecting his sudden romance with Harry to his friends' brand-new relationship and feeling all gushy inside. Thankfully, Liam replies quickly and doesn't seem at all perturbed.

 

Liam Payne: Louis!!! Can't wait to tell you about it, still a bit surreal. Xx.

 

Louis is about to tuck his phone back in his pocket when it buzzes with a new text. His heart stutters when he sees who it's from.

 

Harry Styles (Haz): Look to the right.

 

Louis' cheeks warm with a nervous blush and he glances up to see Harry sitting a few tables away, surrounded by friends. As he watches them try to get Harry's attention, Louis can't help feeling a small surge of smugness. Little do they know who Harry is staring at, and why.

 

Louis Tomlinson: Are you wearing my blanket? I thought that was my bloody look.

 

Harry Styles (Haz): MY blanket. And you looked so good in it, I figured I should give it a go. What do you think?

 

Louis practically wriggles his toes at Harry asking for his opinion.

 

Louis Tomlinson: Only a 9/10 because I wore it first.

 

Harry Styles (Haz): :'(

 

Louis Tomlinson: Don't cry! I'm only kidding.

 

Harry Styles (Haz): Bloody hilarious.  
Harry Styles (Haz): I want to text you about last night, but the guy across from you will notice if you start blushing.

 

Too late. Louis blushes and chances a glance across the table. Niall is too busy dusting his poached eggs with pepper to notice the text exchange, so Louis ducks back over his phone. His toast is probably cold by now but he can't bring himself to care.

 

Louis Tomlinson: Last night was…

 

Harry Styles (Haz): Brilliant? Fan-fucking-tastic? The best night ever?  
Harry Styles (Haz): Stop leaving me in suspense, Tomlinson.

 

Louis Tomlinson: All of the above. But why do you have to be so far across the cafeteria? I wanna touch you :'(

 

Louis pointedly avoids looking at Harry's table after sending the text and tries to choke down a few bites of toast. He abandons his meager breakfast when a new message from Harry glows from his screen.

 

Harry Styles (Haz): Darren doesn't get in until later because he commutes from town. I'll be in his office all morning, alone. Room 27 on the second floor. Visit me?

 

Louis' eyes widen and he looks up at a very smug Harry. He shakes his head emphatically, because kissing in a professor's office is completely against the rules. And just imagining Harry leaning him over Professor Westerfeld's desk…Louis shakes himself out of the fantasy before his dick gets hard in the middle of the cafeteria.

 

His phone buzzes with another text.

 

Harry Styles (Haz): You don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable. But I do want to tell you about the things I did to myself last night while I thought about you.

 

Louis Tomlinson: I'll be there.

 

"Who the hell are you texting?" Niall asks, pointing an accusatory fork at Louis' vibrating phone. "That bloody thing won't shut up."

 

"Oh, er, no one."

 

"No one's got a lot to say this morning," Niall says sarcastically, dumping a forkful of egg onto Louis' toast.

 

"What was that for?" Louis asks, indignant.

 

"You haven't eaten a fuckin' thing. If you don't at least have a little protein, your day is gonna go downhill fast."

 

"Thanks for the tip, Mum." But Louis eats the toast and egg and chats with Niall about a bloke who lives down the hall from them and spends all his free time playing FIFA. By the time they leave the cafeteria, his text conversation with Harry seemed like it happened ages ago. But the crisp, electric feeling inside him won't let him forget the way Harry asked to see him in Professor Westerfeld's office.

 

"I'm heading this way," he says, pointing in the opposite direction of the classroom he and Niall normally walk to. "I have to meet with a professor."

 

"Rough. Tell him he's a wanker and be done with it."

 

Louis laughs. "Later, Niall."

 

He feels a slight thrill of fear as he walks through the imposing double-doors that mark the professor's building. Though there's nothing about him that would arouse suspicion, he feels like there might as well be a neon sign over his head advertizing exactly what he's here for.

 

Room 27 is toward the end of the second-floor hallway. Louis' legs are putty beneath him but he manages to make it all the way to the slightly open doorway without any trouble. He knocks lightly and pushes it all the way open.

 

Harry is sitting behind the desk, thrown into sharp relief against the grey light filtering through the window. He's tossed the blanket aside, revealing a loose shirt that shows off an array of chest tattoos and delightfully tight black jeans, ripped down the thighs. Just looking at him is enough to send Louis bouncing off the walls with lust, so no wonder getting off in the shower last night was easy. It was almost embarrassing, how fast he came.

 

"You can close the door behind you," Harry says, his voice just a touch deeper than it usually sounds. Louis wants to kiss him until his voice becomes gravelly with want. He didn't realize Harry's deep voice was something he craved until last night. But now he is very, very aware of how much he wants Harry to use that voice with him. Only him.

 

"Did you have a good breakfast?" Louis asks lamely, adjusting his sweater so that the front covers the bulge in his jeans, already half-hard.

 

"It was decent," Harry shrugs. "But if I'm being honest, something kept me from fully enjoying it."

 

"Hm? What's that?" Louis can't help teasing him a little.

 

Harry gets up and rounds the desk so that they're standing face-to-face. He only hesitates a moment before kissing Louis hard, dragging his teeth over Louis' sensitive bottom lip and moaning softly at the taste. Louis remembers he forgot to brush his teeth this morning and feels a little self-conscious, but Harry doesn't seem to mind. So Louis allows himself to lose himself in Harry, tracing wanting paths along Harry's spine and whimpering a little when Harry tugs on his hair. He forgets that they're in a professor's office, at the end of a hall filled with his teachers. All that matters is this.

 

Seeking more contact, Louis pushes his hips forward and meets Harry's in a flash of needy friction.

 

"Shit, Louis," Harry groans, turning so that he can press Louis against the wide desk. "Feels so good."

 

Louis clumsily sits back on the desk, knocking over a pot of pens. He wraps his legs around Harry's waist and tests to see how it feels when he bucks up into Harry from his angle. The simple answer: It feels incredible. The desk is high enough that his waist easily aligns with Harry's and they can move against each other. Each time Louis' cock drags against the front of Harry's black jeans, he feels it from his head to his feet. Harry is so, so hard and Louis can't believe that he gets to be the one responsible for such a glorious thing.

 

"So tell me," he gasps, their lips still brushing together. "Tell me about last night."

 

"Mm," Harry mumbles, an intelligible noise. He smiles with half-lidded eyes and tugs on Louis' bum so that their cocks grind together as they talk. Each lazy circle of Harry's hips makes Louis think that it'd be possible to get off like this--fully clothed and sitting on a pile of ungraded essays. "Well, I imagined I was fucking you. And that you liked it a lot. You said the most amazing things, about how you loved watching me fuck into you. I called you baby and you liked that."

 

Louis nods, rutting his hips up against Harry's teasing rhythm.

 

"Yeah?" Harry murmurs, green eyes gleaming. "You'd like me to call you that?"

 

"I--yes," Louis says, breathless. "Yes please."

 

"Anything you want," Harry whispers into Louis hair. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, baby."

 

Louis shakes his head, sure this isn't true. He pulls at Harry's shirt until he can see the butterfly and traces the outline of each wing. Harry stands completely still as he does this, letting Louis discover the more intimate parts of him without interruption. When Louis moves to his nipples, Harry gives an involuntary shudder and hisses slightly when Louis gently thumbs them.

 

"Wish we had more time," he says to Harry's half-exposed chest.

 

"Me too," Harry says, kissing Louis' forehead. "Thanks to you, I'm going to have to take care of this on my own."

 

He grabs at his cock through his black jeans, and Louis gulps when he sees how big it is. Of course, he felt it against his own, smaller dick when they were grinding. But now, seeing it resting in Harry's loose grip, he is suddenly overwhelmed by how much he wants Harry to fuck him.

 

"Want you," he says, pulling Harry back in for another kiss. "So fucking much."

 

"You can have me," Harry promises, tracing his wet lips from Louis' earlobe to the low collar of his sweater. "Tonight?"

 

"I'll come over after practice," Louis says. "And after I shower."

 

"No, no shower," Harry says petulantly. "You look so good all sweaty after practice."

 

"Harold Sty--"

 

"I promise I'll shower you off afterward."

 

Louis doesn't stand a chance against that kind of offer. "Okay. And then we'll sing, just like we planned. We won't get distracted."

 

"Course," Harry says, grabbing a fist of Louis' sweater and holding him close. "No distractions."


	13. Chapter 13

Louis feels bad when he has to tell Liam that he can't hang out tonight. He promises that they'll hang out soon, guilt eating at him, but then Zayn comes up and gives Liam a little squeeze and the guilt vanishes. Louis is pretty sure Liam would rather be kissing his new boyfriend than telling Louis about how great kissing his new boyfriend is.

 

Louis isn't quite sure why he hasn't told anyone about Harry yet. From the beginning, he didn't think he and Harry would be friends, let alone more-than. He knows none of his teammates would think twice about him seeing Harry, but there's a part of Louis that wants to keep their newness all to himself--just to see how it goes and not put pressure on things to work out perfectly. He's had relationships fall apart right after shouting about it from the rooftops, and then comes the awkward process of telling all his friends that it didn't work out. If this thing with Harry is just a fling, Louis doesn't want to be crying into a basket of chips and telling Niall about what could have been if only the relationship lasted a bit longer.

 

Sure, it's pessimistic. But Louis has always been a little guarded when it comes to the romantic aspect of his life. His sisters are able tease a lot of information out of him, but they're the only ones.

 

He doesn't shower before taking the lift all the way to the top floor, but he does adjust his hair a little and blows lightly into his cupped hand to make sure his breath doesn't smell like the lox he had for lunch. Satisfied, he steps off the lift and feels his heart begin to stumble. It didn't seem entirely real during practice, going to Harry's room to do things he's only imagined doing. But now that he's here, about to knock on Harry's door, his palms are twitchy and his mouth is tingly like he ate too much pineapple. It's with some difficulty that he raises his hand and knocks twice.

 

The door swings open almost instantly, Harry's desk chair spinning from how quickly he got up.

 

"Louis?" he says, feigning surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?"

 

"Oh shit, I think I'm all mixed up," Louis says, tapping the number tacked to Harry's door. "I've got a thing for the guy in 709, not 907."

 

Harry laughs and grabs Louis' hand to tug him inside. He eases the door shut behind them and lets go so Louis can make himself comfortable. Louis perches on the edge of Harry's bed before quickly jumping up, wondering if sitting on the bed is too suggestive. But then again, Harry is well aware of what is suggested by them meeting up like this. He sits back down and Harry laughs.

 

"Do I have bedbugs, or what?"

 

"No, I just--" Louis bites his thumbnail before realizing he hates biting his bloody thumbnail. "Sorry. Nervous."

 

Harry sits on the bed next to him and takes his hand.

 

"Lou, we can wait. If you're not ready, I don't want you to feel pressured to do anything you don't want to do."

 

"No," Louis sighs, frustrated. "I am ready. Maybe not for sex, but other stuff. I--I want you to fuck me, but after…after we try some other things first."

 

"Of course." Harry rubs affectionate circles into the back of Louis' hand with his thumb. "Are you a virgin?"

 

Louis nods. "I mean, I've had boyfriends back at home and done loads of other things. But I never met someone I could imagine actually fucking. I mean, until now."

 

"Oh, Lou." Harry's voice is quiet, and Louis detects a kind of hushed reverence. "I'm honored. Really. And we can take as long as you like, okay? I'm in no rush, baby."

 

"Thanks," Louis says, looking from their loosely clasped hands to Harry's assuring face. His long hair is pushed back in soft waves and his green eyes are warm.

 

"Do you wanna watch something?" Harry asks, grabbing his laptop from the desk. "We can just relax for a bit."

 

They start watching an episode of The Office, but it doesn't hold their attention for long. Now that he's not so nervous, Louis lets his hands wander the length of Harry's chest, tugging at the shirt until Harry laughs and pulls it over his head. He tosses it easily to the ground and lets Louis' soft touch explore the ink on his broad chest.

 

"We can stop watching now," Louis whispers, curling into Harry's warm, bare side.

 

"No way. This is my favorite part of the episode, Tomlinson."

 

"Oh." Louis gets a little embarrassed and nudges his face into Harry's side to hide the pink of his cheeks.

 

"I'm kidding," Harry says gently. "Can you set this on the ground?"

 

"Sure." Happier now that he knows it was a joke, Louis takes the laptop and places it on the ground next to Harry's narrow bed. When he returns to the soft warmth of Harry's side, Harry wraps him into his strong arms and just holds him there for a few moments.

 

"Do you want to become famous?" Harry asks, lips against Louis' still-sweaty hair.

 

"Uh…I guess so. Why?"

 

"That first day when I met you, it was like you were performing at a sold-out arena. They were all cheering as you sang their favorite songs. And then you opened your eyes and it was just some random guy watching you dance on his bed. I felt like a letdown compared to your fantasy."

 

"No!" Louis scoots back and looks into Harry's wide green eyes. "Harold Styles, you could never disappoint me. I was embarrassed as hell, but that's all. I'd rather sing for you than a sold-out arena any day."

 

"Really?" Harry nudges his nose against Louis'.

 

"Yeah," Louis says, a little breathless. "Course I'd choose you, Harry."

 

"That's good, baby. I'd be jealous if you preferred a whole lot of fans over me."

 

"Only want you," Louis whispers.

 

Harry groans and tugs Louis to him. Their lips meet gently at first, light and exploring and new. Then Louis drags his teeth against Harry's top lip, teasing out another groan that makes Louis' hips rut forward involuntarily. It's strange, the feeling of intense desire that comes over Louis whenever he's this close to Harry. Past relationships never intoxicated him so completely, taking over his senses until all he could taste and smell and hear and feel was the other person.

 

Harry lays flat on his back and drags Louis on top of him, hands fluttering across his back. Louis realizes he likes this, being handled roughly and delicately at once. He kisses harder, showing Harry how much he likes it, and feels the soft sound of surprise Harry makes pressed against his parted lips.

 

Harry grabs at Louis' arse and Louis gasps. The desire to have someone fuck into him has never been so strong, and it's all he can do to stop himself from begging for a couple of Harry's fingers. He shifts until his hard cock is pushed against Harry's and begins humping, needy and erratic. In response, Harry deftly flips their positions so that Louis is lying beneath him, legs spread and shirt rucked up to his nipples.

 

"So pretty, baby," Harry breathes, looking over Louis' gently trembling form. "And you smell so good, God."

 

He bends forward and brushes his nose against the line of silken hair beneath Louis' bellybutton. The ghosting touch makes Louis shiver and, to his horror, whimper a little. Harry grins smugly and continues his teasing, reaching to palm himself while his teeth graze the sensitive skin between Louis' hipbones. Seeing how desperate Harry is to touch himself, how turned on this is making him, just makes it harder for Louis to keep still.

 

"Patience," Harry says while Louis squirms.

 

"Fucking hypocrite," Louis mutters darkly, looking pointedly at the way Harry's hand is stroking along the hard line of his cock through his jeans.

 

Harry laughs deep in his throat and grudgingly pulls his hand away.

 

"You can take those off if you want," Louis whispers, hiding his embarrassment in the crook of his elbow.

 

"If I do, you have to let me see your face when you blush," Harry says. "So cute."

 

"Hey, I'm not cute. I'm hot!"

 

"You're both," Harry laughs, pressing a kiss to Louis stomach before pushing himself up and working his jeans off.

 

Louis' eyes widen as he sees the full length of Harry's cock for the first time. As painful as it might feel to have that thrust inside him for the first time, he wants it. The pain, the pleasure--all of it.

 

"This okay?" Harry murmurs, returning to the bed and kneeling between Louis' still-spread legs.

 

"Um. Yes." Louis can hardly speak, he's so fixed on the sight in front of him. "God, yes."

 

"Breathe, baby." Harry leans forward to kiss him and the head of his erection bumps against Louis' bare stomach. The unexpected contact doesn’t help the whole breathing situation, and Louis quite nearly chokes. "Can I take these off?" Harry asks, tugging on the waist of Louis' football joggers.

 

Louis nods and Harry drags them down past his knees. Louis watches as Harry licks his lips obscenely, wetness already pooling at the tip of his cock.

 

"Can I…?" Harry trails off, kissing Louis' inner thighs and looking up at Louis' beneath his eyelashes.

 

"Please," Louis hisses, flexing his hips to show that yes, he wants Harry to suck him off. Possibly more than he's wanted anything, ever.

 

Harry moves to take Louis into his mouth, licking gently at the head for a few moments just to taste him. Louis fucks up into the feeling, cheeks burning as he tries to restrain himself.

 

"Sorry," he gasps, threading his fingers through Harry's mess of dark curls.

 

"Don't apologize," Harry growls, licking slowly from base to tip. "You can fuck my face, baby."

 

He takes Louis' full length into his mouth, not stopping until the head of Louis' cock nudges the back of his throat. The sensation is overwhelming and Louis knots his fingers wildly in Harry's long locks, moaning shamelessly as he pushes forward into the wetness of Harry's eager mouth.

 

"Harry, oh, fuck Harry," he gasps, hardly able to bear the way Harry's thick lips are wrapped around him and the sound it makes every time he thrusts to the back of Harry's throat. Louis is trying to go easy, but it's so hard when Harry is taking him so well, squeezing the sides of his hips so reassuringly.

 

Then one of Harry's hands is gone from his side and he's jerking himself off to Louis' frantic sounds. The sight of Harry's obvious arousal is enough to send Louis over the edge and he comes in Harry's mouth, fingers gripping shakily at Harry's beautiful face.

 

"So good," he moans, watching as Harry swallows him down and kisses the tip of his cock.

 

"I know," Harry says, his voice broken and husky as he strokes himself faster. "Can I…can I come on you, Louis?"

 

"Yes," Louis says, dragging one hand across Harry's chest tattoos while the other pulls on his hair.

 

"Love when you do that, baby," Harry groans. "Pulling on my hair…shows how much you like it."

 

"Love it, Harry. Please come on me."

 

"Louis," Harry hisses, hand pumping frantically at the length of his shaft as he comes all over Louis' stomach. Louis watches the sweaty skin of his stomach get marked by Harry's come, surprised by how much pleasure he takes in feeling owned by Harry in this way.

 

"C'mere," Louis says, holding his arms out. Harry hugs him close and pulls the sheets up so they're covered.

 

"We should get some dinner," Harry murmurs sleepily. "The cafeteria probably closes soon."

 

"You're still hungry?" Louis teases, kissing Harry's cheek when he grins.

 

"'m only a little hungry. Like, for dessert."

 

"That's more like it," Louis says. "I should shower and get some clean clothes on before we go downstairs."

 

"Ugh," Harry makes a disgusted sound and Louis is gripped with panic as he thinks he did something wrong. "You should never wear clothes, Tomlinson. Should be illegal."

 

Louis laughs, amazed at how comfortable things are just a few seconds after watching Harry come all over his stomach.

 

"But then you wouldn't be the only one who gets to see me naked."

 

"True," Harry says, lightly kissing the skin just below his collarbones. "None of your screaming fans get to see you like this, do they Lou?"

 

"No, Harry. Only you."


End file.
